


My Hands Will Keep Me Steady

by sanmyshuno



Series: Wideboys 99 Flake Remix [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (On One Peron’s Part Mostly), Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Armitage Hux, But A Very Enthusiastic Relationship, Choking, Couch Sex, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom Armitage Hux, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Hickies, How Do I Tag, Humiliation, Hux Is In His 30s and Ren Is In His 20s, I don't know, I think that's it? - Freeform, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Related, Light Dom/sub, Light Feminisation, M/M, Men wearing makeup, Mutual Hand jobs, Objectification, Possessive Behavior, Power Bottom Armitage Hux, Praise Kink, Ren Is Called Ren And Ben, Rimming, Submissive Kylo Ren, Top Kylo Ren, Topping from the Bottom, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Humiliation, alternative universe, kylo Ren Wears Makeup, marks of ownership, rim jobs, slight size kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanmyshuno/pseuds/sanmyshuno
Summary: "I got you”.What a lovely sentiment. If it were from anyone else.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo, Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Series: Wideboys 99 Flake Remix [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634800
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	My Hands Will Keep Me Steady

**Author's Note:**

> Kylo sleeps on the couch too much and Hux tells some half-truths. 
> 
> I don’t even care if this is done or not, take it because I'm sick of looking at it.
> 
> Title from Mika’s “Ice Cream”. 
> 
> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.

> My Hands Will Keep Me Steady

Propped up against the headboard, an architecture magazine opened in front of him like it’s something that he’s actually reading, Hux watches on as Ren sits at his newly acquired vanity assembled haphazardly in an undisturbed part of the bedroom. The new addition to the room throws off the minimalist aesthetic that Hux has worked so hard to build — the Robin’s Egg Blue antique styling clashing with the neutral greys and dark woods.

An eyeshadow palette sits open in front of Ren, deep reds and brick-toned browns stare up at him with their silly little pun names printed underneath each pan. Hux swears Ren has a thousand palettes of the exact same shades in his massive — and ever-growing — collection, but some nonsense about brands and formulas means he has to own every single of them. He’s blending in one shade that looks too close to his natural skin to do anything useful with another, albeit slightly different shade, that’s also too close.

There’s an art to makeup, Hux knows this, but he doesn’t fully understand it and nor does he want to. Although, watching Ren contour his big nose into something a little more appealing and unsightly moles disappear underneath layers of foundation _is_ something that Hux finds himself quite interested in.

“You’re staring,” Ren says, eyeing Hux in the reflection of the mirror.

“I am,” Hux says, abandoning the magazine entirely in his lap, “you’ve sat there for an incredible amount of time without achieving much”.

Ren rolls his eyes and continues to buff out the shadows, “I’m doing the base,” he explains like Hux really cares, “I’m gonna put stuff on top”.

“Of course. Spending fifteen minutes on something you won’t even see, why didn’t I know that already,” Hux says. He fingers the bending edge of the front cover to the magazine. “Isn’t the _foundation_ the base of the face?” he asks the large and ornate building decorating the cover.

“For the face. This is the eyes,” Ren mutters undignified and mostly to himself.

Hux stands with fluid grace and pads over to the vanity with socked feet, peering down at the mess of tools and tubes and palettes scattered across the tabletop. The second-hand vanity wasn’t in the best condition when purchased, but new stains and chips in the paint and wood have already started popping up two weeks into buying. A tube of plum lipstick sits uncapped on its side, the uncovered bullet coming in direct contact with the wooden surface. Hux rolls up the sleeves of his turtleneck as a precaution against any stains on the black fabric and caps it himself. “Hey,” Ren protests, “I was gonna use that”.

Hux’s eyes sweep across the somewhat organised square section of the vanity dedicated to lipsticks. There’s a deep red colour near the back and Hux’s eyes are drawn to the gold packaging; it’s cheap but trying so hard to look expensive. He reaches across the table, careful not to dirty himself — it would be easier to go from the other side, but if he did, he wouldn’t be inconveniencing Ren by blocking the mirror. He places it down in front of Ren, knocking away a tube of mascara. “You’re wearing this one”.

Ren grumbles something to himself, some nonsense about _not wanting to_ that Hux doesn’t care for as he continues to scrutinise how unorganised everything is set out before him, picking up a white tub of something, surprisingly, written in French. His French is rusty and, before he can piece together what it is, Ren’s already speaking up, “it’s face cream”.

“Why is it in French?” Hux asks, putting the cream back.

Ren shrugs at his reflection, looking at himself in the mirror at different angles until he seems satisfied with himself, “because it’s expensive,” he explains, replacing his eyeshadow brush into the glass jar he keeps his brushes in.

“I have expensive face cream and it’s in English,” he says, knocking over the upright tube of eyeliner that Ren is reaching for, earning him a quiet _fuck you_ . Hux watches, silent and — mostly — reserved of judgement as Ren lines his eyes, thick and black with a sharp wing. They’re mostly even on both sides, better than some of the other wings Hux has seen in his life, not that he pays too much attention, but sometimes people take the phrase _they’re sisters, not twins_ too serious. Ren keeps his eyes closed and waves a hand in front of his face, presumably trying to quickly dry the liner.

Hux continues to stand there, propping his hip against the vanity to keep him steady, arms and ankles crossed. He asks what Ren thinks is serious questions while throwing in sly comments — “more concealer there, I think,” he says, jabbing at Ren’s moled cheek with the end of a spoolie brush, not wanting to dirty his fingers by touching Ren’s face.

“For someone who likes musical theatre a lot, you don’t know much about makeup,” Ren says once he looks satisfied with himself, highlighted severely enough that he looks like he would glow in the dark and the vampish lip looking as well as Hux thought it would.

Hux blinks at him, “I don’t see how those two things relate at all”.

“They wear a lot of makeup in musicals,” Ren argues.

“That means nothing,” Hux counter, “the woman who served me lunch today wore makeup. I don’t learn things through osmosis”. It’s clear by the look on Ren’s face he doesn’t know what _learning through osmosis_ means and Hux doesn’t bother explaining it.

Ren slides himself out from underneath the vanity, looking a little silly with his fully made-up face and decent-for-once hair paired with a ratty shirt with more holes in it than the required amount and sweatpants that Ren’s probably owned since he was a teenager, the ankle freezers exposing his odd socks. One thing Hux quickly learnt about Ren when he — moved in? — was that he never paired and folded his socks, just threw them in a drawer together unmatched. 

In retaliation, Hux threw all of Ren’s clothes out of the window and into the wet sidewalk drain, telling him not to come back until all his items were laundered, paired and folded properly. He came back at midnight that night, washbasket Hux didn’t previously own filled with neat clothes. It didn’t last very long and Hux didn’t bother trying to correc thim again. 

“So what are you going to do with all of that now?” Hux asks.

Ren shrugs, tapping in the password for his phone, “take some selfies. Send some to Rey. Put a few on Instagram, maybe. Wash it off”. The moment Hux sees Ren raise his phone to face level, he’s out of the room and planning to pour himself a glass of wine and maybe take a painkiller or two.

Hux ignores Ren for the remainder of the evening, locking himself away in his study with Millicent, a glass of red wine and a small serving of honey roasted figs. His bookmarked novel sits beside him but he didn’t pick it up, instead accidentally finding himself lost in the comment section of a forum dedicated to sapphire lapidary. 

It’s only later that night when he _probably_ had one glass too many and _definitely_ should have been asleep an hour and a half ago, Hux has Ren pinned down beneath him, slowly circling his hips on Ren’s lap as he lazily jerks himself off. He’s mostly enjoying the way Ren’s mascara and eyeliner is dripping black tear tracks down his cheeks in a fit of frustration, moles becoming visible underneath streaking foundation. Ren’s lipstick is smudged around his mouth and rings of red are smeared down the length of Hux’s cock.

And he comes like that, slow and satisfied, and picks himself up off of Ren and carefully takes himself to the ensuite to clean up. Ren is still laying there when he comes back out, still hard and chest heaving deeply, racked with weak sobs and limbs looking like dead tree trunks. “Either clean up or sleep somewhere else. I don’t need stains on my pillowcases”.

Hux slides underneath the covers on — his side? — of the bed, back facing Ren’s potentially comatosed body. He wakes up at _6:00_ AM the next morning and stumbles out of his bedroom to find Ren asleep, bare-faced, on the couch with Millicent curled around the gap between his legs. 

On the way out the door, he leaves a note on the kitchen counter and a mug of coffee in the microwave to be reheated when Ren wakes up.

* * *

Ren doesn’t have a job, not really. He’s got no nine-to-five, five-days-a-week commitment like how Hux does. He shows his face when asked, suited up and semi-smiling for journalists whenever they need a face and literally no one else in the Organa-Solo-Skywalker clan seems to be available. 

_He’s only in his twenties_ , Hux can remember one TV presenter on the news saying once, _no one knows what they want to do in their twenties — I didn’t_. Hux was making his way through school and being groomed to be his father in his twenties. He knew what he wanted to be doing.

 _No one knows what they want to do in their twenties_.

Ren doesn’t have a job and he likes to remind Hux of that when Hux does have a job and is at work. He sends Hux text messages ending in a string of multicoloured hearts and selfies that are probably supposed to be cute — relaxing in Hux’s bathtub, filled to the brim with bubbles and wearing a pearlescent face mask, his probably-too-long hair pushed back with a fluffy headband; a shot of himself on Hux’s bed, crossed leg with Millicent sleeping soundly on his lap, peace sign half cut off from the angle. He doesn’t even see them at work, his personal phone switched off through the day, and only sees them once he walks through his front door, and sees the man himself — typically making himself comfortable on Hux’s couch, half-asleep and watching reality television.

He comes home that night, on the earlier side of _10PM_ with Ren standing over the stovetop, stirring something in a wok Hux wasn’t aware he owned. The sleeves of his canary yellow sweater are pushed up to his elbows and, under the length of it, Hux can’t tell if he’s wearing something underneath or not. Why his torso is cold and not his legs is something Hux couldn’t begin to understand. 

_He’s a cold creature, in both attitude and body temperature._

What Ren is cooking is a chicken stir-fry, full of vegetables Hux didn’t have in the fridge that morning and a bottle of Kan Tong sauce. It smells nice, Hux supposes — a fuller, more domestic meal than what he usually cobbles together himself because he’s been awake since _6AM_ and doesn’t trust himself to remember to turn off the oven. 

Ren abandons the stove to kiss Hux’s cheek with the promise that dinner will be ready by the time he’s finished washing up. And it is — showered and dressed in comfortable clothes, he watches Ren set the table with matching plates and silverware, an impressive serving of dinner on both plates. Hux stands, unmoving, in the doorway and Ren beams and waves him over when he sees Hux hovering.

Hux walks over as he was directed to, sitting in the chair that Ren had pulled out for him. There’s a glass of red wine sitting beside an iced water in front of him and a bottle of ginger beer for Ren. He’s not much of a drinker, only really downing champagnes and whiskeys for events to calm his anxieties. As big and imposing as he looks, Ren has the confidence of a bullied teenage girl.

Ren drones on and on about the most mundane things that happened through his day holed up inside of Hux’s apartment and his brief trip to the supermarket for dinner. It was, frankly, boring to Hux, but his day wasn’t full of anything much better, so he listens to Ren complain about how hard it was to find a packet of sesame seeds. 

Dinner takes longer than his usual affairs and he watches the clock behind Ren’s head, feeling himself get more and more impatient as the seconds tick on. He drinks his wine steadily, downing mouthfuls of water when Ren reminds him to. Eventually he’s _allowed_ him the table like a child and retreats to his study with the excuse of having to finish some work while Ren plants himself on the couch, flicking on the TV to some station playing _Groundhog Day_ and the promise of staying up until Hux was ready for bed.

It’s well past midnight when Hux emerges from his study. Ren is laying on the couch and, even with the way he’s curled up tightly, his feet are still poking out from underneath the light throw blanket Hux keeps over the back of the couch for decoration. The movie is over and the channel is now playing re-runs of _Riptide_ — the _Screaming Mimi_ ’s face is horrifying enough to cause children nightmares, Hux is sure.

Hux doesn’t bother waking Ren for bed, instead just switches off the TV and tries his best to cover Ren from shoulders-to-toes.

* * *

The conference was the typical mindless dribble that Hux has learnt to expect when a bunch like-minded people got together to talk about what _they_ like and know without actually caring about anyone else’s topics. He does like to stand in front of a room, demanding the attention of everyone sitting in their overly plush chairs while he goes through his five-year plan for the company and revels in their polite claps at the end.

It’s the networking nonsense afterwards that Hux doesn’t entirely enjoy, honestly. Conference get-togethers are awful compared to the typical big-names-only parties he’s known to attend. The level of professionalism is much too high and the likelihood of him coming across the president of a telecommunications company snorting cocaine off the tits of the boss behind one of the biggest women’s rights movements of the modern day is far too low.

No, he doesn’t care for this circle-jerk of a situation at all, especially because he knows he will win any dick-jerking competition by a mile. He hands out business cards and sips subpar champagne and nods along to conversations that are mostly praise for the revival of _his_ company.

Solo corners him at the table filled with appetisers, handing him a glass of champagne to force him into a polite conversation that he can’t really leave for image’s sake. “My son has moved in with you,” Solo says, a question worded like a statement. 

Hux thinks about it; Ren’s been staying there for a few months now, on and off — but mostly on. Clothes and records and makeup making themselves as home amongst Hux as their owner has. Hux drew the line as Ren’s god awful war memorabilia, but he’s certain that, in a duffel bag containing mostly skinny jeans, is the helmet that once belonged to his grandfather. “I suppose so,” Hux replies, the response measured, “but it’s only temporary,” he tacks on the end more for himself than anyone.

“Really?” he asks, taking a long sip of his whiskey, “his mother is quite concerned, you know”.

If Hux was a lesser man his blood would’ve run cold with fear, but he’s learnt to steel himself well enough during his adolescent years. “That so?” he asks. He uses the champagne as a barrier between the two of them and steadies his stare on the grey hairs of Solo’s temples so he doesn’t have to look directly into his eyes like any — _real_ — man would. 

“That’s so,” Solo answers, “don’t you want to know why?”

Hux knows it’s bait. As much as Solo might appear to be as dumb as a bag of rocks, he didn’t become Organa’s other-half just because he’s a pretty face. He’s as smart and cunning as they come and Hux has a right to be cautious around him. “If Senator Organa has concerns for her son, she’s more than happy to speak with him,” he almost says _there’s nothing to hide_ but _he’s_ not as dumb as a bag of rocks and Solo has a right to be cautious around him.

“The boy doesn’t want to speak to Leia,” Solo frowns into the top of the flask. Places like this don’t supply the cheap-but-effective whiskey that Solo likes to down like medicine. 

Hux takes a sip of his champagne, “the relationship between Ben and his mother has nothing to do with me. Ben’s an adult, I don’t have any control over what he does and doesn’t do,” he says and it’s mostly true. The look on Solo’s face suggests he doesn’t fully agree with him and, as Hux says time and time again — a sleazy man can spot another from a mile away. Hux throws down the rest of his drinks, “now if you’d excuse me,” he says and doesn’t wait for permission, walking off to rub shoulders with people who’d want to end him for other, less personal, reasons, glass ditched on the buffet table.

He doesn’t get too far before a callused hand grips uncomfortably rough around his upper arm — a warning — “I'd be careful if I were you, boy,” Solo says, his old face probably more serious than Hux has ever seen it before, "Ben may be a shit of a kid sometimes, but he's _my_ shit of a kid". 

Hux doesn't know if he snatched his arm back or Solo released him. Either way, he scampers off in a way that doesn't make it look like he's retreating with his tail between his legs.

* * *

Hux keeps a pack of Davidoff classics in his desk drawer, the one with the lock on it. He usually smokes one every month or so to stave off the nagging urges and attempt to drain the last of the frustration from his shoulders. It works more often than not — way too well, he feels — and sometimes he considers going back to being a pack-a-day smoker. Tonight isn’t that night, however, as he takes out a cigarette from the pack before replacing it in the drawer and grabs the dark blue BIC lighter alongside it.

Ren is sitting cross-legged on the sofa when Hux emerges from the study, iPad resting on his lap. Hux can’t see — and doesn’t really care — what Ren’s doing but he can see quite a bit of text. The soft crooning of some indie singer plays through some device but Hux can’t really tell what. Lyrics of possessiveness and sex stream easily through the speakers, metaphors about the beauty of a women’s body and cannibalism make Hux want to snort. The top half of Ren’s hair is tied back by a leopard print scrunchie and he lifts his head when he sees Hux, eyes beaming, mouth chewing on the drawstring of his kangaroo-pouch hoodie. 

It’s — _not —_ cute and Hux hurries to the back door of his apartment that leads to a small balcony. Ren trips over himself as he follows Hux out, large feet thumping against the hardwood. Like the rest of his place, it’s sparsely decorated with a three-piece wrought iron patio set and a large potted cactus that would’ve died lifetimes ago if it wasn’t for the fact that it was a cactus. 

Hux sits himself onto one of the patio chairs and _click-clicks_ the lighter to life, inhaling the first hit of nicotine in what feels like too long. Instead of planting himself on the other chair, Ren lowers himself on the concrete beside Hux, who snorts and blows a lungful of air into the star-dotted sky. 

The world underneath them is quieter than a usual Friday night, only a few revving motors and one group of intoxicated bar crawlers stumbling around the streets — a girl stopping to help hold back her friend’s hair as she pukes over the bark of a tree, drawing an amused huff from Hux.

There’s a daddy long-legs sitting on its web, strung between two metal pickets, and Ren prods at it, his fingers poking out from his oddly ill-fitting sleeves — how clothing could _ever_ be _too big_ for Ren is something that Hux would never believe until he saw how large the burgundy hoodie looked on him. “It’s going to bite you,” Hux teases, flickering a tip of ash into the red butt bucket.

“It’s fine,” Ren says, trying — and failing — to grasp it’s jittery needle-thin legs between his thick and graceless fingers, “they’re not poisonous or anything”.

“Venomous, Ben — spiders are venomous,” Hux explains.

“What’s the difference?” Ren says, giving up on trying to pluck the spider from its home, rubbing his hands on his hoodie. The hairs on his legs are standing up on ends and there’s goosebumps dotting his flesh. It’s cold out and, instead of being rugged up appropriately, his athletic shorts do nothing to ward off the cool breeze. Hux doesn’t bother replying and instead takes a drag. 

The silence between them is on the closer side of comfortable and it slowly dawns on Hux that they haven’t seen all that much of each other as of late; him isolating himself at work or attending talks while Ren stays in — their — home more often than not, not really having all that many work commitments or friends outside of Rey. Hux wonders if Ren had similar antisocial tendencies before moving in or if there was something about being secluded in Hux’s apartment that Ren specifically enjoys.

A car drives by underneath, the headlights momentary blinding Ren because he doesn’t try to look away and Hux hopes it’s the latter. 

“I spoke to your father recently,” Hux says to the glowing tip of his cigarette. 

Ren’s head shoots up to him, eyes wide in confusion and Hux is sure he can even see a little anger in there too, “why? What did he want?” 

"Him? Nothing," Hux says, flat and casual, "your mother on the other hand. Now, apparently she misses you terribly".

Ren uncrosses his legs and tucks them up to his chest and picks at a small scab on the high of his knee from a scratch mark from Millicent’s kneading. “I don’t miss her,” he says, sounding equal parts childish and legitimately defiant in a way Hux has never seen before, “and I don’t wanna talk to her”.

Hux stubs out the remainder of his cigarette and drops it into the butt bucket, “not at all?” he asks, calmly.

“She’s a bitch,” Ren replies, “never want to see her again”.

Hux subdues a snort. Senator Organa is no _bitch_ . Controlling — somewhat. Overbearing — a little. More suited toward running a country than raising a child — most likely. But she’s not a bad person. If Ren wanted to get away from a _bitch_ he would run back to the safe arms of mummy and daddy dearest and away from Hux. But he doesn’t, settling himself very solidly into Hux’s life, regardless of the warning signs. 

Hux takes grip of the little half-pony tied messily high on Ren's head and yanks. Ren goes limp and lets the movement happen until he's resting his cheek against the material of Hux's dark green trousers. “You won’t have to,” he says, watching the lights turn off in an apartment window across the way, “ _I got you_ ”.

What a lovely sentiment. If it were from anyone else.

They sit until the air gets too crisp for Hux’s soft sweater and he sends them both back inside, Ren grumbling, annoyed, until Hux tells him to shut it and shoves him towards the direction of the bedroom. 

They get there and Ren only trips over his oversized feet once on the way there, Hux a few languid paces ahead of him. Millicent is curled up at the foot of the bed and he gently coaxes her out of the room, with a hushed promise of extra treats later. Closing the door behind her, Hux takes Ren by the wrist — and _very much_ not the hand — and leads him to the bed.

Hux drags Rend won on top of him by the neckline of his hoodie, smashing their lips together in a kiss that’s all Hux. He’s very aware his mouth tastes strongly of nicotine as Ren shudders, cringing away for a hair-split second before relaxing against the off-putting taste firm tangling of Hux’s fingers in his hair. Ren doesn’t touch, hands modestly away from Hux’s body as he holds himself up well enough he doesn’t accidently crush Hux underneath his bigness. “Undress,” Hux demands, breaking away before shoving Ren away, “yourself, then me”.

Ren scrambles to comply, tossing them off until they’re laying in a messy pile on the bed. Ren makes slower work of undressing Hux — gently sliding his hands up underneath the charcoal sweater and pulling it over his head, planting feather-soft kisses to the exposed skin. Hux doesn’t hurry him or tell him to stop the — _intimate_ — nonsense so Ren continues to kiss a line from collarbone to cheek, which seems to satisfy himself well enough to carry on with his task. Undoing the button and zipper, Ren works Hux’s pants and boxers down his legs, tangled together and coming down together. Once they’re both off, he’s forced to untangle the mess he made before taking both piles of clothes into the ensuite to dump them in the hamper — having no desire to upset Hux. 

He’s quick to come back, half-hard cock bobbing between his legs, eyeing the way Hux’s slender is spread out on the bed that would look ridiculously put-on if it was done by anyone other than Hux, Ren thinks, who looks so perfect in whatever situation he’s in without trying — a point that Hux would square his shoulders about if Ren were to ever mention it.

The bed dips underneath the new weight of Ren, who climbs gracelessly in besides Hux. He looks awkward and unsure of himself, like a nervous virgin being bedded for the first time — hands twitching at his thighs like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch Hux — or himself — yet or not. Every sexual encounter between them begins like this and fills Hux with a perverse sense of mirth. 

“You want to touch me,” Hux says, a question worded as a statement, as he traces the length of one of his collarbones and stops to double-tap the bony part near his throat. Ren nods, mouth dry and tongue heavy, unsure or unable to speak. “You want to fuck me”.

“I do,” Ren manages to stamper out.

Hux shuffles himself with more ease than Ren knows he’d ever be able to do atop a mattress, sitting himself up straight in front of Ren. Lifting a hand that smells faintly like cigarette ash and nicotine, Hux pushes up Ren’s top lip with his index finger, exposing gum and canine. “I like this mouth,” Hux says as he fish-hooks the side of Ren’s mouth, “not so much when it’s talking, but, when it’s pleasing me, I do enjoy it. I think I’d like you to use it on me, don’t you?”

“I do,” Ren repeats, words gaggled with a mouthful of finger.

Squeezing the sides of Ren’s mouth together, Hux says “thought so,” before planting a one-sided kiss to Ren’s forced fish-lips.

Wiping his spit-slick fingers down the side of Ren’s face, Hux settles on his back again, beckoning Ren over with a crook of a finger. Crawling into the space between Hux’s legs, Ren settles on his stomach, ready to take Hux’s hardening cock in his mouth. Pushing him away with a foot to the chest, Hux huffs in amusement, “impatient, are we, Ben?” 

The pout on Ren’s face is childish and miserable, “you said I could suck you”.

Sneaking the foot downwards, Hux flicks one of Ren’s nipples with his toe, earning him a strained gasp. “I never said that”.

“What did you mean then?” Ren asks, eyebrows furrowed in almost puppy-dog confusion.

“I want you to open me up with your tongue,” Hux says without the embarrassment that most people would have saying such a thing. He lets his foot drop and it falls dangerously close to Ren’s cock.

“Oh,” Ren says, ducking his head like he does when he tries to hide behind the curtain of his hair but it doesn’t work this time, still tied up with the leopard print scrunchie. 

_“Oh?”_ Hux says, mocking amusement edging the question, “have you never done that to someone before?” the question is both full of humiliation and veiled curiosity. Ren shakes his head _no_ and the tiny ponytail on top of his head flops funnily from side to side. “Then let’s hope that you’re a natural at it”. 

There’s no explanation as to what would happen if Ren wasn’t a natural — but it probably involves being kicked out to sleep on the couch where he could still hear Hux getting himself off. Hooking a leg around Ren’s neck, Hux draws him in until his legs are thrown over Ren’s shoulders and he’s inches away from Hux’s hole.

Ren has a look of unsureness in his eyes as he peers up at Hux, who raises an eyebrow: _get on with it._

And he gets on with it. As expected, he’s not entirely a natural but what he lacks in skill he makes up for with enthusiasm, like he does a lot of things, but he’s a quick enough learner. Hux doesn’t interfere too much, revelling in Ren’s desperate rush to get Hux off; his approach to rimming much the same as fucking — speed before anything. 

Setting a pace, Ren’s desire to please pulling more pleasured sighs from Hux than the fumbling flicking of his tongue. Swirling his tongue around the rim, Ren laps at Hux’s hole. Reaching down, Hux takes his cock in hand, half-heartedly jerking himself off, more for the show of it than wanting any pleasure from it. Gasping and sighing, Hux digs the heel of one of his feet into the solid expanse of Ren’s back, who whines pitifully and tries to double his efforts.

Loose strands of hair tickle the insides of Hux’s thighs as plants obscenely wet kisses to the sensitive skin. Pulling back to catch his breath, Ren nips lightly at the swell between cheek and thigh. Hux lets out a hitched gasp, free hand finding purchase in the tangles of Ren’s half-pony as Ren smoothes the area with a wide stripe of tongue before diving back in. 

It was louder, messier and clumsier than it would have been if someone more experienced was doing it but loud, messy and clumsy sums up Ren so well Hux shouldn’t be surprised. Ren groans, trying to grind into the mattress, jabbing at the furled pucker of Hux’s hole, slightly nudging the tip inside. Hux bites the inside of his mouth, trying not to moan too loudly, and a strangle noise sounding more humiliating slipping out instead.

At the sound, Ren looks up, dark eyes peering up at Hux, who wishes that he had been on his knees instead — the eye contact too much, too intense, and he quickly shuts them so he doesn’t need to look at Ren anymore. “Stop,” Hux _— doesn’t —_ strain to get out and he has to drag Ren up from between his legs — mouth red and flushed face covered in spit, there’s a slightly out-of-breath heaving in Ren’s massive chest. There’s a bottle of lube in the top drawer of the bedside table and Hux blindly pulls it out, tossing it to Ren who barely manages to catch it between his large hands. “Use your fingers,” he says.

Sitting back on his knees, Ren slicks his fingers up, easily sliding two into Hux’s loosen hole. There’s no real technique to Ren’s finger-fucking, pistoling them with the frantic rythem Hux has grown used to. “Good, Ben,” Hux breaths out the praise, squeezing his cock harder as he grinds down on Ren’s fingers, “another”. 

Ren gives a sharp intake of breath as he works a third finger in, free hand rubbing unsoothing circles on Hux’s upper thigh, the feeling of fairy-light hair grounding him slightly — distracting him from his leaking cock, hanging hard and heavy between his legs. 

Giving his cock a final stroke, squeezing the base of it to try and starve off the closeness that’s coming on too quickly, Hux shuffles underneath Ren’s heated leer, “enough,” he says through clenched teeth. His lust-heavy eyelids are struggling to open, their gaze fixated on the wall behind Ren’s head.

Slowly pulling his fingers out, Ren watches in awe as his slick fingers inch out of Hux’s wide-stretched hole, the looseness clenching around nothingness and showing a neediness to be filled that Hux would never let on. 

Without proper direction, Ren’s hands lay on his lap, jaggered nails digging crescent moons into his palms as he tries not to touch both himself and Hux.

Shuffling around, Hux sits up and grabs a hold of Ren’s shoulders. His everything goes lax as Hux maneuvers him, long limbs moving easier than their usual dead branch heaviness until Hux is satisfied — back to the headboard and legs stretched akimbo in front of him, Hux settling himself as proper as someone can across a lap, knees bent on either side of Ren’s thighs, manually placing Ren’s hands on his lithe waist and he’s only a little light-headed about the way Ren’s fingers almost touch as their encircle Hux’s thinness 

Scratching his manicured nails down the length of Ren’s chest, Hux catches both nipples between thumb and forefinger, twisting them harshly, “are you going to let me use you?” he asks, watching as Ren;s head falls back, mouth agape as his eyes slip shit. When he doesn’t get a reply, Hux twists harder, “are you?”

Shivering under the mistreatment, Ren gasps out a pained “please”.

 _“Please what,_ Ben?” Hux asks.

With as much care as he can manage with a lust-addled brain, Ren grasps the boniness of Hux’s hips, “please use me,” he mumbles, face hot with embarrassment. 

Kissing the apple of a reddened cheek, a mocking reward, Hux trails his arms to wrap around Ren’s wide shoulders, “put it in me,” he says.

The angle is a bit of an awkward reach around, but Ren is able to shift around Hux well enough to give himself a few rough jerks with a lubed hand in hope that what’s left will slick him up well enough to push in, the bottle of lube out of reach. He pushes himself in with minimal help from Hux, who sighs as Ren buries himself root-deep, the drool of pre-cum helping the blunt press in.

Once pressed flushed together, Hux gives a few experimental circles of his hips, buries his face in the crook of Ren’s neck because eye contact at this point would be too intimate. Feeling the slickness and breathing in Ren’s scent is much more intimate. He tightens around Ren’s cock to feel _— be —_ in control, relishing in the groan he receives. “You’re so big,” Hux says, teeth brushing against Ren’s pulse point before pulling back, “so big and so good for me, aren’t you?” he asks with another rock on his hips, “you are going to be good for me, right, Ben?”

Ren whimpers, a barely there jerk of his hips, as his thick arms wrap fully around Hux’s waist in a tight — _almost_ possessive — hold. “I can be good,” he says, hurried to please and mumbled into the crook of Hux’s neck. “I’ll be good, just lemme. Please, let me, I gotta. Fuck”.

Pulling Ren’s head from his shoulder, Hux shoves two fingers deep inside of Ren’s mouth, tips brushing against the back of his throat, causing him to splatter and a small shine of tears start to well up, “you can fuck me,” Hux says, “but you can’t cum — not until I do, understand?” Ren tries to mumble out a _I understand_ from around Hux’s fingers but it just causes him to gag more. Taking his fingers out, Hux rubs the built-up saliva over Ren’s face and slaps him only kind of gently across the cheek, “very good,” he says, so close to praise, “go on then — show me what you’re good for”.

Ren barely manages to gasp out a _thank you_ before he starts to thrust up, animalistic and rough, a tight grip holding Hux as close as he can as he thrusts his lips up, bouncing him on his lap with strong arms. Hux curls his nails into Ren’s shoulders and bites his lip to muffle a shout, the faint taste of blood slowly filling his mouth.

From the start, Ren sets an urgent pace — fast and steady and boardring on too much direct stimulation to Hux’s prostate. Moaning praise and mummering humiliation into Ren’s ear, Hux tries to bounce himself on Ren’s cock, his own rubbing against sweat-slick abs, but the bone-breaking grip keeps him completely in _Ren’s_ control.

Tongue rolling out his mouth, Ren pants and whimpers like a beast, which Hux is quick to bully him about, teasing jabs slightly lessened by Hux being equally messy — hair a mess and pale skin flushed top-to-toe red, blood smearing across his lips like smudged lipstick.

Hux pulls the leopard print scrunchie out of Ren’s hair, tossing it to the ground to be forgotten. Tangling his fingers into Ren’s hair, Hux yanks back his head, leaving his throat exposed, needing something to hold, to take — back — control. “Can I cum?” Ren pleads, breath heavy, “please”.

“Not yet,” Hux barely manages to bite out and he’s proud of himself for that, “not until me”.

Ren pries an oversized paw from around Hux and reaches between them, wrapping it around Hux’s cock. He fists it tightly, pumping his hand in rough, frantic tugs. It’s an awkward and uncomfortable angle that’s going to hurt the small of Hux’s back with the almost impossible arch he needs to make room for Ren’s hand. A very distant thought about EMS machines comes to Hux’s mind but quickly gets pushed aside with a swipe of Ren’s thumb across the tip of his cock. It was a dirty trick but Hux can’t help but gasp out some praise as he feels his orgasm edging closer.

Stifling the shout of his orgasm, Hux sinks his teeth into Ren’s neck, latching onto the skin as he rides through the pleasure. Through the waves of his own orgasm, he barely notices Ren cumming with a loud groan in his ear.

Once the high begins to settle, Hux lifts himself up off of Ren and onto the undisturbed half — his half — of the bed, only just barely able to stop himself from wrinkling his nose at the feeling of Ren’s cum leaking from his hole. Sitting himself up as much as possible, Hux tries to shift out of bed, but a hand to his wrist stops him, “stay here, yeah?” Ren asks, cock softening against his thigh.

“I have to clean up,” Hux says.

“I’ll get a washer,” Ren says with a hurry, “stay”.

“I’m not staying here. The bed’s dirty”.

“But—” Ren starts before being cut off.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Hux says with finality, “you can remake the bed”.

As Hux slips out of the bedroom and into the ensuite he catches Ren looking slightly defeated from his peripherals. By the time he washes and comes back to the bedroom, the sheets are now a textured caramel and Ren is sitting cross-legged where Hux had left him. If it wasn’t for the new bedding or the fact Ren was now wearing a pair of boxers Hux knows the seams are splitting at the waistband, it wouldn’t have looked like anything was different. 

He can feel Ren’s eyes boring into him as he goes about his business, slipping on some underwear and silky olive pajamas. He sits on the edge of the bed to slide on some socks, knowing the tiles of his house will be too cold to traverse bare-foot in the morning. Ren is still sitting there, face looking dejected, when Hux slides underneath the covers, back facing Ren. “Could you turn the lamp off?” Hux asks the wall and Ren complies, switching the light off before crawling underneath the sheets.

A moment or two of quietness moves between them and Hux can swear he can hear the both of them blink. Another moment passes. He shuffles himself backwards until his back is pressed against Ren’s chest. Neither of them speak when Ren wraps his arms around Hux.

He hopes Ren continues to say nothing in the morning.

* * *

It’s cold outside and Hux doesn’t know when it happened. It’s been chilly for a little while now, but not as freezing as what he’s now forced to footslog through. He tries to draw his peacoat tighter across his body, annoyed at himself for ignoring the weather report to instead catch the tail end of the advertisement of an upcoming _Flahooley_ production. Hux already knows the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks will be a childish pink without a scarf to bury himself in.

Instead of being at home on such an awful day with a cup of tea and a fleece blanket, he’s out on his only day off for the week — a depressing Sunday, obviously — for a trip to the vet because Millicent needed more flea medication and she comes before his desire for warmth and comfort. So, instead of complaining too much, he has one leather-gloved hand clenching a takeaway cup of brandy oolong tea and the other tucked deep inside his coat pocket.

There aren't many other people bustling alongside him, everyone else smart enough to bunker down underneath their flannel pyjamas and fuzzy socks. Despite how empty the outside plaza is, Hux still manages to bump into someone else and, between the neon green deathhawk and hot pink pin stamped with _THEY/THEM_ , Hux still didn’t notice them — head full of flea tablets and how he’s not too sure if he can feel his toes flex in his boots and _why was Ren plastered on the front cover of Us Weekly_? 

Hux mutters an apology but Deathhawk doesn’t respond as they keep on walking, earphones deep in their stretched ears.

Masses of magazine cover posters were stuck to the inside of a newsagency’s windows, promoting all their brightly coloured front covers and fake gossip articles to whatever sad, stay-at-home mothers they’re targeted towards — _Liam Hemsworth and Miley Cyrus have called it quits, maybe you, a fifty-something mother of four, have a chance!_ — and, right in the middle of celebrity trainwrecks and Hollywood cheating scandals, was _Ren_.

He was clearly the main attraction — three pictures of him decorating the blown-up print. The biggest one was a full-body paparazzi shot of Ren and his cousin, Rey, who was proudly sporting her Olympic windbreaker from when she won second-place in fencing. Even with her chunky sneakers, she’s miles shorter than Ren. They’re clearly talking animatedly about something while Rey sips on an iced coffee. It would’ve been a nice shot if it wasn’t so invasive. 

Two more photos off to the left side sit inside a box, eye-straining yellow text saying something Hux doesn’t really care to read fully. One of them is of Ren giving the middle finger to whatever camera is being pointed at him, unruly hair hidden underneath a heather grey beanie. Hux feels — something _akin_ to — pride swelling up inside of him.

But neither of those were the focus of _Us Weekly_ . Ren is wearing a hoodie, half-way unzipped and too light for the weather they’re in. But that’s still not the issue, seeing as Ren runs a little hotter than normal — or at least hotter than Hux, who shivers at the word _cold_. What the issue is that Hux’s eyes are drawn to the big red circle around a bruise on Ren’s neck, displayed in all it’s full, possessive glory. 

Hux’s senses are suddenly filled with the scent of Ren’s _Old Spice_ two-in-one Head & Shoulders and the knowledge that _he_ was the one who left it there. And it was just _there_ — not hidden by Ren, on the front cover — beautiful and deep and purple and pretty and _his_ . Hux feels a strange mix between wanting to run inside and rip it down so no one else can see it or leaving it so _everyone_ can see what’s it. 

Instead of giving into the urge to cause a scene in the newsagency run by a little old Vietnamese lady known for beating shoplifters with a straw broom, he takes a slip of his oolong tea and turns on his heels, hurrying in the direction of the vets. 

By the time he leaves the shopping centre, Hux has a little white paper bag shoved into one peacoat pocket and a _Us Weekly_ magazine rolled up in the other. 

Ren is sitting on the kitchen counter when Hux gets home. He’s tapping something out on his phone, kettle boiling beside him. The glossy black mug beside him is probably full of the disgusting instant coffee that Ren insists on even after Hux brought him some high quality beans and a decent machine. His hair is up out of his face in a full ponytail, purple hair tie holding it back, exposing his neck in full — bruise completely visible. 

How Hux didn’t notice before, he doesn’t know. _He didn’t care, focussed on work and himself and literally everything else more important_ but turns out he was forgetting about something _very_ important. 

Hanging up his peacoat on the hook near the door, flea medication still in the pocket, Hux snatches out the magazine. He walks, calm but purposeful, across the way and puts the magazine down, letting it be cradled by Ren’s huge hands and dwarfed phone. “What’s this?” Ren asks, scrunching his eyebrows together.

“I don’t know, Ben,” japping a finger at the encircled picture, “what _is_ this?”

“I went out with Rey. Is that not okay?” he asks, sounding legitimately concerned about whether or not it was okay for him to spend time with his cousin.

“No,” Hux says slowly, “what’s this?” he asks, poking the picture more aggressively, actually making a little dent in the glossy cover right over the top of Ren’s neck.

“Oh!” Ren replies, suddenly overjoyed, “it’s the hickey you gave me. See?” he points it out, stretching his neck to show it off proudly.

“And what? You just left it uncovered so _everyone_ could see it?” _Left it uncovered so everyone could see it?_

Ren sets the magazine and his phone off to the side, “it doesn’t matter. No one knows it’s yours”. _Yours_ — he says it so casually with a shrug of his shoulders, like it doesn’t weigh an emotional tonne, as he tries to pull Hux in between his legs. 

Hux goes with him until he’s slotted between Ren’s thighs, way too easily. Hux pokes at it, frowning, and Ren smiles, “does that bother you? That no one knows it’s mine?” Hux asks.

“A little,” Ren replies with a funny hitch of his upper lip, “does it bother you?”

“No,” Hux lies and brings Ren in for a harsh kiss to shut him up, gripping Ren’s waist, who gently rests his hands on Hux’s sweater-covered wrists in return. As their lips move together, the roughness fades away to soft gentleness and Hux has no idea where it went.

The air conditioner is off because Ren was home alone and has no need for it but, beneath the collar of his sweater, Hux was starting to warm up — a burning feeling like he was sitting too close to the fireplace. Eventually they have to pull apart and Ren rests his forehead against Hux’s and they share a breath, the smell of a prior coffee in Ren’s mouth. 

In a moment of silence, the kettle clicks off and Hux tries to pull away, ready to move on with his day but Ren keeps him in place, legs locked around Hux’s waist. “Your coffee,” Hux says to the hands on his wrist.

“Fuck my coffee,” Ren says.

“But—” Hux starts before he gets interrupted. 

“Fuck my coffee,” Ren repeats and presses a kiss to the corner of Hux’s mouth like it prove a point. Then he kisses the other side too, like that also proves a point. Hux feels proven and kisses Ren proper on the mouth again. “I want to take you to bed”.

They don’t make it to the bedroom, Ren settling them on the couch instead, mumbling something incoherent about _not being able to make it_ against Hux’s lips, complaints from Hux about removing stains from the upholstery falling on deaf ears. Kissing languidly, they trade soft brushes of lips and barely-there hints of tongue. One of Ren’s arms is trapped awkwardly underneath Hux, the other one skirting underneath his sweater, teasing fingers tracing patterns across the flatness of Hux’s stomach. At a loss of what to do with his own hands, Hux clings awkwardly to Ren’s shoulders.

He kisses his way down Hux’s face, from the corner of his mouth to the crook of his neck. Hux smells of expensive cologne and and spicy body-wash, and Ren feels lightheaded at the scent, burying his head in the curve and inhaling — it feels almost overwhelming. Ren’s hands slide over Hux’s body, thumbs stroking at the protruding hip bones there.

Lost in his own world, Ren almost misses it, “what are you doing?” and he licks a small stripe near Hux’s clavicle. 

“Whaddya mean?” Ren mumbles, sounding almost intoxicated.

“You’re smelling me,” Hux says, sounding somewhere between disgruntled and breathless, “it’s kind of weird”.

“Is it?” Ren asks, planting another kiss to the neck.

“Yeah,” Hux says.

“Do you want me to stop?” Ren asks, staring up at Hux through the messiness of his hair, and it sounds heartbreakingly sincere.

There’s silence between them and Hux’s fingers clench and unclench funnily in the material of Ren’s shirt and he does a good job at looking at Ren without looking at Ren. “No,” he finally settles on.

The thousand-watt smile that plasters itself across Ren’s face and he presses another messy kiss to the spot on Hux’s neck before pulling back. Shuffling himself around, Ren rearranges himself until he’s uncomfortably settled between Hux’s legs, awkwardly hunched at the shoulders as he pushes Hux’s sweater up to his underarms, exposing rosy nipples surrounded by faint freckles. Ren circles around the pebbling flesh, pinching them between thumb and forefinger. Hux bites on his bottom lip, muffling a sound as Ren licks one side of his chest. Ren mumbles something about _don’t hold back_ and traces a finger along the seal of Hux’s lips but he refuses, stubbornly keeping the sounds quietly to himself. “Didn’t know you were so sensitive,” Ren teases. 

“Shut up,” Hux says and it’s almost a sneer. Ren laughs, not unkindly, and licks Hux’s nipple again before taking it into his mouth. The way he’s suckling makes Ren’s mind wander to scenarios where Hux would berate him for his desperation and mummy issues. Kissing across the scantily haired chest, Ren teases the other nipple, gently tugging it between his teeth. Hux squirms, small but noticeable, under him, and Ren pulls. He presses soft kisses up as far as he can until he reaches wool and just plants two kisses on both of Hux’s cheeks before softly on his lips.

Sitting back on his heels, Ren’s body weight is somewhat uncomfortably across Hux’s lap. Beneath him, Hux’s chest is slick with his spit. There’s the slight dents left behind of Ren’s teeth across one pec. Hux doesn’t know what to do so he closes his eyes and steadies his breathing, red chest heaving gently. He doesn’t quite know what to make of this Ren that stares him down with darkened eyes but he doesn’t hate it as much as he feels like he probably should and drags Ren down into a bruising kiss.

He regains a moment of control, tangling one hand in Ren’s messy ponytail and the other one wrapping around Ren’s neck. They lose themselves in the moment before Ren taps out, a struggle to breath getting the better of him and, for a moment, Hux considers holding on for a moment longer but relents. He needs something around his cock.

He tries to urge Ren down, neat nails digging into the fabric on Ren’s shoulders, “give me more,” he demands, even if the request loses some bite with his flushed cheeks. Nevertheless, Ren complies and works his mouth across and down Hux’s chest as he nips and licks at the milky skin. Reaching Hux’s hipbones he sucks what will probably become a faint mark onto the right side. Fingers at Hux’s belt, Ren looks up through his lashes and Hux just raises a brow — _go on_. 

Sitting back up, he’s awkwardly hunched at the shoulders as he works through the belt and buttons, slipping them down and off. It’s an uncomfortable struggle but soon they’re left in a heap on the floor, with Hux’s underwear joining soon after. Ren licks at the glistening tip of Hux’s filling cock, whose hips jerk slightly.

Licking from underside to head, Ren kisses the tip before parting his lips and sucking the head inside. Bobbing his head, Ren uses his hands to work the rest of Hux’s cock, fingers teasing his balls. “So good,” Hux hisses through clenched teeth, fingers grasping Ren’s hair, pulling the tie from it. It lands underneath the coffee table and he knows Millicent will be the next one to find it, months later. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth,” he says and doesn’t have to wait another minute before Ren goes lax, throat relaxed and willing.

Pumping his hips up, Hux buries himself into the tight wet heat of Ren’s mouth. He throws his head back, arousal and control flowing through him. The slick sound of Ren’s throat and — almost — disgusting gagging fill the space, echoing through the minimalist lounge room. Filthy words and ill-intended praise fall from Hux’s lips as he uses Ren’s mouth, dribbles of pre-cum pooling and sliding down his throat.

The rhythm is predictable but harsh as Hux holds him in place, thrusting unkindly. Ren lets it happen, moaning wetly as the head of the cock bumps against the back of his throat, fingers clawing at the couch beneath them. Tears begin to well up in his eyes at one particularly rough thrust which leaves him sputtering pathetically, saliva spitting from his mouth and rolling down his chin. Slowly, but sure, the tears come out in earnest as he struggles to control his breathing around Hux and he starts to feel light-headed.

Ren runs a hand over one of Hux’s trembling thighs, the muscles shuddering underneath him from the way his hips cant up to thrust. He taps against the thigh and Hux waits — _one second_ , _two seconds_ , _three seconds_ , _four sec_ \- — before releasing and letting his cock fall from Ren’s spit slick lips. He leans his head against Hux’s hip and breaths heavily as he tries to catch his breath. Hux’s cock twitches hopefully at the unshed tears in Ren’s eyes. “C-can I,” Ren pants through reddened lips, “can I please?”

“Can you what?” Hux asks.

“Can I get off? With you. Together?” he sounds so hopeful, running his hands up and down Hux’s legs like he thinks that’ll be what conveniences Hux to say yes.

He pauses for a moment, feigning the need to think, “yes,” he says convinced or otherwise.

The thousand watt smile looks like it hurts from Ren’s jaw having tried to unhinged itself earlier, but he smiles brightly regardless as he strips everything off in the ugliest manner Hux thinks he’s ever seen from him as Ren plants himself half-on, half-off Hux. He wraps one of his large hands around the both of them, Hux’s cock looking unbelievably dewarfed beside Ren’s own and the meaty paw engulfing them both.

He starts off slowly, the movement helped by the spit coating Hux’s cock. Ren gasps as he buries his head back into the crook of Hux’s shoulder as he begins to speed up his hand. “Good boy,” Hux praises, rolling his hips up into the tightness. It doesn’t feel as good as Ren’s mouth or when he’s being stretched impossibly wide open, but it’s still _wonderful_ and he curls his toes as Ren’s thumb brushes against his slit. 

Ren dances his teeth across Hux’s neck, knowing he’d have hell to pay if he were to leave anything visible, but dying to leave his own mark, like Hux had given up. Instead he just squeezes his fist around them, glowing at the way Hux’s hips hitch and he gasps low in his throat. So he does it again — one, two more times — before settling back into a regular pace.

Instead of his regular mix of praise and humiliation, Hux is quiet — small gasps and cut-off moans as he encircles Ren’s arms in his hands, biting teeth marks into his broad shoulders. He shudders every time Ren’s fingers close around his head, grip tighter there as Ren tries to keep hold of Hux with more of his own cock still left untouched.

The rhythmic stroking soon becomes frantic stroking as heat begins to pool in the bottom of Ren’s stomach, the oncoming need to cum approaching him. Beside him, Hux gasps, a harsh intake of breath at the sudden change of pace. He’s been closer for longer, the angry flush to his cock has been there since he was root-deep in Ren’s mouth. Hux digs his nails into Ren’s hairy forearms, a sharp groan ripping itself from his chest as he spills, cum running down Ren’s fist as he pumps him through the shocks of orgasm. By the time the stimulating is borderlining on _over_ stimulation, Ren shouts as he cums himself. 

Slowly letting them go, Hux shuffles around to lay more comfortably. “You have cum on your sweater,” he says. Hux peers down, noticing that his sweater had slipped back further down his torso and specks of cum had gotten on the wool. He pulls a face and attempts to sit up to remove it but Ren’s — always surprisingly — strong arms hold him in place, forcing Hux to cuddle up against him.

They lay together, twisted uncomfortably because Ren refuses to let them move and Hux is acutely aware of the fact that both his and Ren’s cum is clinging to the woolen fabric to his sweater, which he’s probably going to have to toss in the bin — later.

“You know,” Ren says into Hux’s hair, “you’re not as shitty as you like to think you are. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside. Like an egg”.

“I’m not an egg,” Hux grumbles Ren’s neck.

Ren kisses his temple.

**Author's Note:**

> Tellonym user: tellonym.me/sanmyshuno


End file.
